


in some sad way (i already know)

by fbismoak (midwestwind)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:40:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/fbismoak
Summary: There’s so much to say still, so many things they still haven’t talked about. It’s the first time they’ve had a moment to themselves, outside of tense encounters in the bunker where they worked not to touch, to push, to give in. The first time she’s tasted him since the island.a post-season 5 interlude.





	in some sad way (i already know)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from. I've been thinking about 5.17 a lot ever since reading nightblood's ["your arms, they keep me steady"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13757334) (which is really just a phenomenal fic and if you haven't read it you need to asap bc it almost made me cry) and then today I was making 3.20 gifs and started thinking about their first time in parallel to their second-first time and yeah. This happened.
> 
> Enjoy!

Their second-first time is a lot like their first-first time. They haven't talked, not to the extent that they need to, but they’re _alive_. Once again, they’re alive when maybe they shouldn’t be, they’re alive when others aren’t. Felicity’s vindictive streak hits and she hopes Adrian Chase is rotting at the bottom of the ocean, buried under the remains of an island whose destruction he’d set in motion.

 

William goes back to Central City to mourn the loss of his mother in a familiar place and Oliver stays with him when he can. She knows it’s difficult for him, even more difficult for William who has found himself suddenly alone in the way only the loss of a parent can leave you. Still, Oliver comes home from each visit frustrated and tired, back bowed from the world bending weight.

 

Metaphorically, of course, because even at his worst Oliver is nearly god-like in stature and overall physical appearance. His peak physical condition was definitely a characteristic Felicity had reaped the benefits of while they were together.

 

He plays it off to his best. Thea hasn’t woken and John is still in recovery. Lance is beside himself with something Felicity can’t place and Dinah’s assurances that he’ll be fine feel false. So Oliver, because he is nothing if not consistent in his bearing of everyone else’s troubles, is keeping his own turmoil to himself. Felicity knows him a little better than that, has seen the broken, jagged edges of him and the way they cut himself more often than anyone else.

 

But she lets him keep it to himself for now, because she hasn’t decided if it’s her place to press or not.

 

Until he shows up outside her door, cracking under the weight and staring at her like a drowning man searching for a life raft - _ugh, too apt a metaphor, Felicity_ . It stands though, as he hovers just over the threshold of the apartment he’d helped her build into a home. And she aches for him, in a familiar _Felicity-Smoak-will-always-hurt-for-Oliver-Queen_ way.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, like she’d ever be mad at him for coming to her, for needing another person the way he pretends not to. He struggles with the words, though, trying to convey something he hasn’t quite figured out himself yet, “I just need..”

 

She steps forward, the same way she had last summer but minus the alcohol and the laughter, until her lips press against his. It’s not what he’s asking her for, she knows, but it’s what they both need right now. The familiar warmth of another person. The comfort of someone who loves every ragged, broken part of you.

 

He hesitates in a familiar way, scared to push too far, scared to push her away. But she’s not going anywhere this time. When he does kiss her back, it’s with an almost overwhelming amount of need. His arms come around her, their molded forms still hovering half in and half out of her apartment. She pulls at him, gently, fingers wrapping around the collar of his leather jacket and encouraging him inside.

 

“Felicity,” he sighs quietly, making her swallow the sound of her own name. She tightens her grip, pressing up on her toes as far as she can to press her lips a little more firmly against his.

 

“It’s okay,” she tells him, promises him, pulling him into the apartment. The door falls shut behind him. “Later.”

 

There’s so much to say still, so many things they still haven’t talked about. It’s the first time they’ve had a moment to themselves, outside of tense encounters in the bunker where they worked not to touch, to push, to give in. The first time she’s tasted him since the island.

 

She glides her fingers down, down, sliding them between his jacket and his t-shirt, encouraging the outerwear over his shoulders. He breaks away to remove the jacket himself and Felicity decides they’ve wasted enough time as she pulls her tank top over her head. Calloused fingers find bare skin, gliding over her ribs, her sides, her spine as she arches against him.

 

“Couch,” she says, trying not to sound too desperate for him. Knowing the feeling is mutual anyway. Oliver shakes his head at her, his hands against her back becoming firmer as they glide down, over the waistband of her leggings, to the curve of her ass. And then the floor is a distant memory and her legs are around his waist, his fingers digging into the meat of her thighs.

 

She realizes the new path he’s decided on as he heads for the stairs and momentarily panics. It’s hardly the first time they’ll have had sex in her bed, but the first time since he’d moved out, since it had stopped being _their_ bed and become _her_ bed, since she’d started sleeping on the other side of it to keep herself from reaching out for him when she woke.

 

Oliver freezes as he senses her change, one foot on the second step, and pulls back to look at her.

 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, but the crease in his brow lets her know he doesn’t know exactly what he’s sorry for. She almost laughs at the softness of it, the gesture enough to ease any lingering fear she may still find within her. “I just thought, this time, it’d be nice if we had a bed.”

 

She does laugh this time, a quiet chuckle as she presses her mouth to his again. It bubbles out of her, growing in a way she can’t control until she’s not so much kissing him as laughing against his mouth. When she pulls back, he’s smiling through his confusion and she strokes her fingers over his jaw, catching in his stubble and finally easing down her laughter.

 

“I love you,” she says, with such natural ease that it feels like breathing out after a long, held-in breath. Oliver stares at her, the warmth and reflected love in his gaze nearly overwhelming, so she kisses him instead of waiting for him to return the sentiment.

 

Finally, they reach the bedroom and she braces herself for the feeling of being pressed into the mattress until she gains the courage to flip the position, to admit she needs to be the one on top. But this is Oliver, so he turns them and eases himself down onto the mattress with her straddling his lap.

 

She reaches for the hem of his shirt as his mouth moves down, kissing a line along the top of her breasts. He breaks away, allowing her to lift it over his head before he lays back into the mattress, expecting the exploratory way her fingers glide over his chest, tripping over the scar tissue as they go.

 

Involuntarily, she sucks in a sharp breath when she realizes how unfamiliar he’s become. The new scars that litter his body, crossing and covering the ones she’d traced so many times, trying her best to fill the ridges and valleys of him with love rather than pain. Her movements slow, earning a frown from him, as her thumb glides over a recent scar and she knows, with a sudden instinctual feeling, that it’s from Chase.

 

Her fingers trip upwards, clumsier than before, as she seeks out the old Bratva tattoo. It barely exists anymore. Traces of ink bleeding out from beneath the mottled skin of a burn scar. She circles it with the pads of her fingers. A sharp feeling at the back of her eyes alerts her to the tears building there and she sniffs a little to try and fight it.

 

When her eyes meet Oliver’s again, he has a practiced passivity masking the emotions she can see in his eyes.

 

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he assures her, voice barely above a whisper. His hand moves from where his thumb had been stroking her inner thigh, coming up to cover hers over the unfamiliar scar. He wraps his fingers around her wrist and lifts it away from the spot on his pec, moving it to his mouth to press a kiss to her open palm.

 

“Liar,” she accuses, but there’s no heat behind the word. She pulls her hand from his, away from his mouth and the delicious scrape of his beard against sensitive flesh, and reaches behind her to unhook her bra. She tosses it aside and doesn’t miss Oliver’s intake of breath, his hands falling back to her thighs and squeezing.

 

She leans forward, her hands coming to his jaw once more, angling his head just slightly so that when she kisses him it’s full of everything neither of them are capable of saying right now. _Later,_ she thinks. They can talk about that later, too.

 

She rocks against him, the heat building at the bottom of her stomach as he bucks his hips up into hers. She can feel the ridge of his growing erection through his stiff jeans, her leggings doing almost nothing to offer a barrier between them. Oliver’s hand glides down her back, dipping into the waistband of her pants and squeezing the flesh he finds there.

 

“I need you,” she pants out, once the slow build has reached its peak and she knows they can’t get anything else done like this. Oliver huffs out something like a laugh against her jaw and she plants her palms on the mattress on either side of him, lifting herself up to hover over him.

 

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he admits and, suddenly, they’re no longer just talking about tonight anymore. Before she can say anything else - assure him, she thinks, that _soon_. They’ll figure it out soon, because she needs him, too, in more than just this way - his hand down her leggings turns into two and the garment is being pulled down her waist.

 

Not one to be a passive partner, Felicity adjusts to make the removal easier and reaches for the fly on his jeans. And then it’s an awkward tangle for a moment as they figure out how to remove each others remaining clothing without ever losing contact. But finally, blessedly, she’s pressed against him, skin to skin, in every place possible with this angle.

 

Oliver moves in that instinctively graceful way he has about him, getting them into a more comfortable spot on the bed. He reaches for the nightstand, and she knows muscle memory has taken over because he stalls suddenly, looking over at her in question.

 

“Do you still-?” He asks, his other hand still firmly on her naked ass, needing the skin there in a way that makes her wish he’d dip his fingers down lower to the space between her thighs. She nods, grinding down on him, and he accidentally knocks his knuckles against the corner of the nightstand in reaction. She laughs at the playful, dark look he sends her, shaking his hand out.

 

“Sorry,” she offers, not terribly sorry at all. He fumbles for the drawer on the front, finding the box of condoms she still keeps hidden there. She hears the sound of his fingers closing around one of the foil packets and she expects him to hand it off to her, but suddenly he’s flipping them over and pressing her down into the pillows.

 

“Hey,” she protests, another laugh bubbling up from her chest, even with the less than ideal change of position. Until Oliver’s hand on her ass comes around her hip, heading south and gliding down to stroke two fingers carefully between her folds. She squirms, knowing she’s already aching and wet, ready for more than just his hand pressed between her thighs.

 

“God,” he says, nearly a growl with the way his voice drops. “You’re so beautiful.”

 

“Yeah?” She asks, moving her hips against his hand, trying to encourage him to give her the friction she needs. “Are you talking to me or my boobs?”

 

She puffs her chest up a little with the joke, hoping to entice him with the hardness of her nipples that are sorely lacking in his attention. He’s always been more of an ass man. He retaliates by finally slipping two fingers inside of her and she moans, her back arching as her eyes squeeze shut. Oliver chuckles, low and smug and suddenly right next to her ear.

 

“You,” he tells her, moving his fingers inside of her and earning another low sound from her. “Definitely you.”

 

“Fuck, Oliver,” she pants, pleading in a way she’s only ever managed to do for him. It strikes her, quite suddenly, that she’s never needed anyone quite the way she needs him. “ _Please_.”

 

His mouth descends on her throat, still not giving her what she really needs, but his fingers have increased their movement and his thumb moves over her clit. He sucks at the spot beneath her ear that has her squirming and panting as he urges her towards her release. She’d almost forgotten this, the way Oliver likes to please and pleasure and bring her to her release as many times as he can before he’ll seek his own.

 

Her orgasm surprises her, sharp and sudden, making her lift her hips off the bed as the climax hits her. She cries his name and, blessedly, this time it isn’t while in bed with the wrong person. The same way he’d guided her up to the edge of the cliff, he guides her down with slow movements and soft kisses. He waits, as he always does, for her breathing to return to normal, for her hands to stop shaking where they grip his arms in a way that might hurt any other bedfellow.

 

“So beautiful,” he repeats on a whisper right next to her ear and she feels her walls clench around his fingers once more, reacting to the compliment, before he pulls them out of her. Felicity opens her eyes to watch him as he, predictably, licks them clean.

 

She feels around on the duvet next to her, looking for the abandoned condom. Her other hand glides over his jaw, pulling him down to her for a sloppy kiss, her tongue gliding over the roof of his mouth. Oliver closes his lips around it, sucking lightly, and Felicity feels the heat building once again.

 

She pushes at him, encouraging him to flip over and allow her to climb on top of him. He goes easily, hands moving over her hips and down towards her thighs as she straddles his upper thighs. He’s ready and at attention as she tears the condom wrapper open, but she doesn’t roll it on right away. Instead, she wraps her fingers around him, squeezing in the way she’d always known him to like as she moves her fist up the length of him a few times.

 

Oliver’s eyes drift shut, his head falling back against the pillows with her ministrations. She wants him to want her, to _need_ her the same way he’s made her need him. She waits, continuing her movements as she watches his breathing grow more ragged, knowing he’s never been very good at keeping himself from talking to her in bed.

 

No, when they’re like this, naked and wanting and pouring everything they have into one another, that’s when Oliver Queen is his most vocal, his most honest. And, God, if she didn’t always love that side of him.

 

“Felicity,” he gives in finally, drawing out her name and begging the same way she had. His voice lowers, turning to a hiss as she increases her grip just slightly, “Jesus _fuck_ please, I just- I need…”

 

It’s a good bookend, she thinks, to the way the night had started. She slides the condom down the length of him, growing hot and eager at the sight of him twitching with anticipation. She can feel his eyes on her as she shifts up, easing herself into a better position before taking a gentle hold of him and settling him at her entrance.

 

She looks him in the eye when she slides down onto him.

 

His fingers bite into her thighs, hard enough she figures they’ll leave bruises in the morning. A physical reminder of the effect she has on him - heaven knows she doesn’t need a reminder of how he affects her. She gives them both a minute, pants and quiet hums of pleasure mixing in the otherwise silent room.

 

And then she moves, rocking against him and building towards the inevitable breaking point once more. Oliver fingers glide over the skin of her thighs, seeking out her clit and moving over it in slow, torturous circles.

 

When she’s painfully close, but somehow nowhere near actually reaching her climax, she lets out a whine and Oliver understands instantly. He sits up, his hands wrapping around her back and adjusting her weight on his lap just so. Suddenly, he’s even deeper inside her, meeting her thrust for thrust, and she cries out. His mouth moves to the juncture of her throat, leaving a gentle kiss before biting down sharply and earning a gasp from her.

 

His tongue moves over the spot soothingly, his hips still rocking into hers, and she knows he’s trying to get her to the edge before he does. Felicity can’t seem to find it, though, the edge of the cliff seeming further away the more she needs it.

 

“Tell me what you need,” Oliver instructs gently, his chest moving against hers the only sign of her exertion. She whines, her fingers tightening on his shoulders, because she doesn’t _know_.

 

“You,” she says, a little ridiculously considering he’s already inside her, all around her. Still, Oliver presses his mouth to the shell of her ear, beard ticking her skin as he drops his voice even lower.

 

“Felicity Smoak,” he whispers and she wiggles against him, always affected by the way he says her name. “You always have me.”

 

His fingers dip between them with the words, punctuating the promise with friction against her clit, and she comes apart for him. Breathing out his name as her fingers come up to card through his hair, her body clenching around him. Oliver waits for her - _doesn’t he always?_ She thinks, a little deliriously - as she comes down from the high. His movements have slowed, working her through it while edging off his own release.

 

Not having it, Felicity presses against his chest until he’s flat on his back once more against the mattress. She takes over, rocking her hips against him, rolling them in a figure eight, and trying to bring him to the edge. His hands fall from her waist, fisting in the duvet beneath them as she grinds down on him.

 

She knows when he’s close from the familiar bunching of his stomach muscles under her hands, the labored panting of his breath, the way his eyes have fallen shut. She waits, timing it before she leans forward towards him. He rises to meet her, feeling the movement and expecting her mouth on his, but she ducks down.

 

Instead, she presses her lips gently to the ring of mottled and burned flesh where his tattoo still sits underneath in an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue stroking over the skin. He gasps in surprise and she feels his body tense beneath her before his hips buck up unsteadily and his own release washes over him. She rocks her hips slowly, soothingly, as he comes down. His hands come around her back once more, pulling at her until she’s flush against him.

 

“About that talk,” he says, when they can breathe again. He’s still inside her and she’s remiss to lose this feeling, wishes to prolong the encounter as long as she can, but knowing it’s not the right time. She presses her mouth to the corner of his, moving her fingers soothingly over his jaw.

 

“Soon,” she tells him, leaving another kiss.

 

“Promise?” He asks and her chest tightens at the hope there, at the fear that this will end the same way last summer had. Her fingers tighten on his jaw in reaction, wishing she could assure him in some better way than words. But, right now, words are the one thing that can save them.

 

So, she says, “Promise.” And he trusts her.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me places?
> 
> twitter: [@fellicityqueen](http://twitter.com/fellicityqueen)  
> tumblr: [fellicityqueen](http://fellicityqueen.tumblr.com)


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